


In Your Eyes (I'm Still Me)

by ShepherdSoreyDidNothingWrong (Sagnessagiel)



Category: Tales of Zestiria
Genre: M/M, Tainted AU, request
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 12:40:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10764459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sagnessagiel/pseuds/ShepherdSoreyDidNothingWrong
Summary: For SilverKitsune, who asked for Tainted!AU for her birthday. Hope you had a good one ^_^"They've gotten bigger since I last saw you." Sorey suddenly says, once more in that toneless voice.Mikleo looks up in surprise. "Hm?"Sorey taps a finger lightly against a hard nub."Bet they'll look really cool when they grow in," he says.





	In Your Eyes (I'm Still Me)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SilverKitsune](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverKitsune/gifts).



> Pretty sure this won't be my last time writing Tainted!AU. It's some rad stuff

There is a strange sort of ambiance to the old ruins. A subtle hum of power mingles with the soft whispers of the wind. Symonne could tell even before the Lord of Calamity settled in them that they were once the stage for a very important and devastating event.

Hell, she would bet that she could listen closely and hear the screams of those still lost. If she were so inclined, she may be able to draw on them.

That would be a bad idea, though. She knows better than to touch the master's malevolence. She will not be of use of him that way.

Anybody can become a dragon. The Lord of Calamity can have as many of those as he pleases.

Case in point, Symonne perks up at the distant sound of someone entering the ruins. The echoing click-click of shoes draws closer as she listens. She knows who it is. No one else ever comes here besides the master.

"You took your time," she mutters under her breath, though she knows he can hear her. The senses always sharpen first, long before the teeth and claws do. As he rounds the corner, she hears him huff.

"That doesn't concern you."

He rarely has time for her games. It is the reason she finds it so much fun to goad him into them. As much as he hates it, he is easy to rile up. He and the shepherd make a lovely couple, matching tempers and all.

She waits patiently for him. He is curious, after all. Wary.

"When is he coming back this time?" he asks. She shrugs, makes a pretty show of it.

"How should I know? You're the family pet. Shouldn't you be with him?"

His eyes narrow. It almost makes the slits that pass for pupils look round. His irises are beginning to shift, that gorgeous amethyst getting paler by the day. 

She revels in this. Heedless of his darkening glare, she approaches him and stands on her tiptoes. Her fingers stroke gently over his forehead, thread through his bangs.

He lets her, the way a cat lets a person hesitantly pet them before they strike. She hums, pleased.

"My, my," she says, "They're really starting to grow out, huh?" She taps lightly on a hard growth. "Wouldn't you say that crown is getting too tight?"

She brushes over the gold. It is cold to the touch. There is a beautifully cut sapphire in the middle, the kind that could cause a lot of conflict if left in the wrong place. She could wreak havoc with it.

"If you don't want it, I could-"

She flinches as steely fingers clamp down on her wrist. He looks into her eyes.

The mood shifts with the sharp chill of frost creeping up her hand. Symonne pouts.

He lowers it slowly from his face, clearly done humouring her, and then forces it away with a sharp motion.

For a moment, neither of them say anything.

"Be that way then," she says, crossing her arms. Her hand feels stiff with cold. She flexes it imperceptibly, uncomfortably.

"How is Sorey?" he asks, dismissing the tension with a bored flick of his head. He seems intent on not engaging her today, which means he is eager to get back to his mate. It makes sense. She has never met a half-dragon who was not in a hurry everywhere. There is only so much time left before they will be unable to speak to each other the way they do now.

"Why? Are you getting restless?" She smirks, once more in her element.

"You know what I'll do to you if you mess with him, Symonne." His glare is as cold as the ice in his veins. He takes himself so seriously. Surely, she thinks, he will make a very stoic and boring dragon.

"And you know what the master will do to you should you cross him." Symonne tilts her head, unimpressed with his posturing. As she watches, his jaw clenches with barely contained anger. He is always angry, has been since they took him in, but it is her insistence on teasing him about his mate that makes him really flare up.

She does so love the new addition of these boys to their little group.

"Don't test me, Symonne," he says. "I'm afraid of neither of you, but you should be of me. I'm not making a game out of this."

She huffs, chuckles in genuine amusement.

"Look at you then, little hatchling. You think you're scary? You wanna prove that right now?"

She squares up to him as though she were a foot taller, looking into his eyes. Up close, she whispers conspiratorially.

"If you're so eager to grow into your scales, how about I show you?"

His eyes flash briefly with her influence. He blinks with the effect. Instantly, he stiffens to avoid flinching.

Symonne smiles. This is exactly what she wanted.

"Go on then, little seraph. Look."

Nothing has changed about him in her own eyes. In his, he now has a coating of icy white scales that cover all his skin. Sharp claws where he actually has fingers. Or he would, if his eyes did not remain unwavering on hers.

"Go to Hell, Symonne," he hisses. The air around them grows colder with his anger.

"I will," she says happily. "Once you and your shepherd help us create it."

He breathes in sharply, as if to retort, but then he seems to regain his composure. He uncrosses his arms and sidesteps her, heading for the door some distance behind her. His eyes fix on it firmly, unwilling to look down.

"Go play with your master," he says. "If you come bother us, I'll make an ice sculpture out of you."

"Love you too, little brother," she coos. He swings open the heavy stone door as though it were made of thin wood and slams it shut behind him. The room trembles the slightest bit.

Symonne sighs. Her source of entertainment has come and gone. Now she will have to go back to waiting.

* * *

Curled up at the foot of the throne with Sorey, Mikleo should be able to relax. However, his thoughts are still stirring with rage and indignance from his encounter with Symonne. His eyes are closed, his head rested on Sorey's lap.

Fingers drag gently through his hair, ones that he much prefers to the cold touch of Symonne. Short nails scratch softly at his head.

"What're you thinking about?" Sorey mumbles. His words are not directed at Mikleo so much as the air around them. His eyes are unfocused, his voice lax. He sounds tired, so tired.

Mikleo draws in a breath through his nose. He focuses on how it fills his lungs, trying to draw it out.

"Not much," he says. "You?"

He opens his eyes. For a moment, it looks as though Sorey did not hear him, but then he blinks, his eyes flickering.

"Lailah," he admits. Mikleo almost flinches. Almost.

Out of all the replies that roll around in his head, he tries to pick the easy way out.

"Don't," he says. "you'll only feel worse."

Sorey huffs. "I thought that was the point of this."

"This?" Mikleo asks.

"Malevolence. Corruption. Accepting our fate."

"Stop." Mikleo looks up at him. "We're talking about something else." At Sorey's sad look he adds, " _Now_."

Sorey sighs and nods his head. Mikleo works hard to calm down and think of something that is not his eyes losing their colour or Sorey's malevolence growing heavier by the day. The thought is beginning to make his throat close up, and he swallows forcibly.

"They've gotten bigger since I last saw you." Sorey suddenly says, once more in that toneless voice.

Mikleo looks up in surprise. "Hm?"

Sorey taps a finger lightly against a hard nub.

"Bet they'll look really cool when they grow in," he says. Gentle fingers sweep over his forehead. Mikleo draws in a deep, calming breath.

"They picked a bad spot to start," he says. "The circlet is getting too tight now."

It is meant as an innocuous statement. They both know it is not. Mikleo closes his eyes again before he can see Sorey's eyes turn glassy. Sorey's other hand, rested on Mikleo's arm, squeezes gently.

"Mikleo, I'm-" he says, but Mikleo interrupts.

"Stop," he says, frowning. "No, you're not. I've told you it isn't your fault."

Sorey gives up easily. They have had this argument before. Neither of them ever wins, but it takes too much out of Sorey just to keep it up. He has made perfectly clear how he feels about what happened. Mikleo in turn has made his rebuttal clear. They eventually agreed that this argument was not something they wanted to spend their eternity together on. Sorey has not quite shaken the guilt, the reflex to apologise.

They could honestly spend their eternity just on apologies.

"So what are you going to do when it gets too tight?" Sorey asks, breaking the brief silence. Mikleo feels a pointer finger tracing his frown. It gradually smooths out with the movement.

"I don't know. Maybe I'll make you wear it."

Sorey huffs. "I don't have the build for it."

"Sure you do." Mikleo smiles, a very small smile. "Bet you'd look like a prince."

"I'm pretty sure those go a little higher on the head." Sorey taps again on the growing horns. He seems intrigued.

"A seraph then," Mikleo says. Sorey stays his fingers. Mikleo opens his eyes and looks tenderly up at his face.

"You'd make the most wonderful seraph," he says softly.

Sorey looks at him, his eyes shining. Mikleo can only look for a moment before it reminds him too strongly of the way his own eyes are paling in colour. He closes them and nudges his head up for Sorey to keep scratching him. It is this, the quiet, that he is going to miss once he transforms fully. Soon - the only timestamp they have because the time it takes varies - his peace will be at an end.

But, he thinks, not yet. Not now.

Sorey slides gentle fingers down his nose and asks him to open his eyes. He waits a moment, lets Sorey trace over his cheeks first. Then he builds up the courage to do so. Even coated in oily malevolence, Sorey looks as gorgeous as he ever was.

Not for the first time, Mikleo wishes that there had been some way to prevent this. It is becoming less frequent, but he knows Sorey does it too. The guilt-ridden thoughts that only go in circles. If only he had done this, if only he had foreseen that.

The fact is that he did not, and so here they are. If nothing else then at least still together. That will not change for all the malevolence in the world.

"I love you," Mikleo says, and it really means _I'll stay_.

Sorey swallows hard and says "I wish you didn't." _I love you too_.

Mikleo simply turns his had to give Sorey access to tracing his neck and says "I know".


End file.
